Bleak looked at her miserable surroundings, ignoring the grunts from the cell beside hers. She’d slept in worse places.
She pushed all the straw into the back corner of the cell and tried to make herself a nest of warmth. Her skin was already covered in goosebumps and her teeth began to chatter. Gods, it’s cold down here.
With a sigh, she settled down into the straw, trying not to think of what was to come. The boy came back into her head. Oremere. She mulled over the name. With her knees hugged tight to her chest, she pictured the map the boy had been thinking of. Ellest, Battalon, Havennesse, Qatrola … and the fifth continent, Oremere, beyond the mist.
A cold, soggy meal was pushed through the narrow slot in the cell door for the fourth or fifth time. Bleak figured she’d been down in the dungeons for about two days or so, but with no windows, no sunlight, she couldn’t say for sure. She could no longer feel her fingers, or her toes inside her boots, and her jaw ached from how much her teeth had been chattering. They’d given her a bucket to relieve herself in, but the prisoner in the cell next to hers made a point of staring whenever she needed to use it. The only thing that gave her comfort was the sharp press of Fiore’s dagger against her leg, still hidden beneath her dirtied skirts. They’d taken the daggers Allehra had given her but hadn’t thought to look for a third. She’d heard enough of their thoughts to know they saw her as no threat, just a pathetic scrap to be pushed around.
Perhaps before, she thought, feeling the blade again, but not now. She would wait. She had always been good at waiting; for the perfect wave, the perfect burst of wind, the perfect storm. She hadn’t seen any of the others, and understood that either they were trying to stay out of trouble themselves, or perhaps they were worse off than she was. She was glad that Bren wasn’t here, wasn’t caught up in all of this, whatever this was. She shovelled the cold gloop from the tray into her mouth, wishing she had a flask of wine to wash it down with.
Something else nagged at her. The little boy from the hall. He’d looked at her with recognition, and he seemed familiar to her as well. But that was impossible. She didn’t know any children in Heathton. Then there was that word, or place: Oremere. If his thoughts had rung true, it would mean the history of an entire realm was a lie. The boy’s frightened face filled her mind again, the way his tensed, slight frame and dark features had been etched with terror, as though he’d seen a ghost in her. Bleak shook her head. This wasn’t helping her. She wasn’t thinking straight. She was half-starved, she’d never wanted a drink more in her life, and she was surrounded by a dozen criminals who were in here for only gods knew what. The fifth continent could wait.
Time passed in waves down in the dungeons, and not for the first time, Bleak wished she hadn’t thrown Senior’s rope into the fire at Hoddinott. From her aching body, she knew she’d had another fit at some point, but time in darkness merged as one. One night, she even thought she’d heard Bren calling out her name. But she knew she was delusional for lack of food and sleep. She only heard him that once.
She had no idea how long the king intended to let her rot down here before sending her to Moredon Tower. Arden wanted to make her suffer, he wanted her humiliated and broken, though she didn’t know why. Besides being born an Ashai, she didn’t know what she’d done to offend him. She shuddered. Who knew what horrific fate awaited her there? Perhaps she deserved it after everything that had happened. Images of dead men filled her thoughts, the blood that had trickled from their eyes and noses, dried and cracked on their bluish skin. She wanted to shy away from them, but she didn’t. She had done it. She had to acknowledge it.
‘I heard they were keeping you down here.’ Swinton gripped the bars of her cell.
From her corner in the hay, Bleak scanned over him. His clothes were clean, his sword was at his waist, and his skin was tanned from the sun. The bruises from Henri’s beating were fading. She didn’t spare a thought for the mess that she must look like.
‘What’s happened?’ Bleak asked. ‘Why am I down here?’
Swinton rested his head against the metal. ‘You’re here because you’re an Ashai, and you’ll be here until the king decides when he wants to put you on a ship to Moredon.’
‘Figures,’ she said grimly.
Swinton paced the stone path outside her cell for a moment and then stopped.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘For this. You shouldn’t be here.’
Bleak shrugged. ‘I was always going to end up here.’
‘There was nothing I could do.’
‘Didn’t think there was.’
Swinton touched his hair again, this time tucking it behind his ear. He met her gaze. Guilt oozed from the man, and for a moment Bleak pitied him. Only for a moment, though. He was the first person she’d spoken to in days, but he was still cleanly clothed and fed on the other side of those bars.
‘Alright, then,’ he said.
‘Thanks for coming.’
Swinton nodded. ‘I won’t see you again.’
‘Here’s hoping.’
There was a ghost of a smile. ‘Good luck, Bleak.’
The impulse to suddenly blurt out her real name gripped her. What if she died with no one knowing her true identity but the king? She squashed the urge. There was no point now.
‘You, too,’ she said.
Chapter 33
Dash sprinted through the courtyard, past the stables and streaked through the woodlands, back to the cottage, gripping Olena’s book hard under his arm. He rushed past Ma and slammed his bedroom door closed behind him. He collapsed on his bed, panting.
It was her. The odd-eyed girl from his vision. What was she doing in the castle? She looked different in a dress, but he’d recognise her anywhere. He’d never met her before in his life, and yet he knew her. And she … she had stopped and stared at him – did she know him, too?
Ma opened the door and peered inside. ‘Master Dash, what is the meaning of this? You race through the house, without wiping your boots I might add, and now you’re slamming doors? You were not raised by —’ She stopped when she caught sight of his pale face and the way he was clutching his knees to his chest. His heart was racing a million miles a minute and his hands were shaking. Ma approached and sat down on the edge of his bed.
‘What is it, Dash?’ She reached out and began to unlace his muddy boots. She pulled each one from his foot and set them down on the floor. Dash knew she wanted to scold him for traipsing mud through the cottage and for wearing his shoes on the bed. The normality of these facts helped him steady his breathing. He wiped his clammy palms on the legs of his trousers.
‘Was it those squires again?’ Ma asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
Dash shook his head. He couldn’t explain this, that he’d seen the odd-eyed girl before he really saw her. They would send him away.
Before he and Olena had become friends, he had spent a lot of time with one of the handmaiden’s sons. He was a funny little thing, with a talent for climbing trees – all the children liked him. But on his sixth birthday, his powers came through and the whole town discovered that he was an Ashai. Dash never saw him again after that. Everyone said that his family were ashamed, and had packed up their few belongings and moved out to the rural areas of Ellest. Some rumours even said they’d moved across the sea to Qatrola. Dash felt sick. What if that happened to him? What if he really did have magic? What if Mama and Pa had to leave Heathton because of him?
‘Are you upset about the princess leaving?’ Ma said, placing a gentle hand on the top of his head, her eyes full of sympathy.
Slowly, Dash nodded. It was true enough. He was upset about Olena, though upset was too small a word for the gaping hole he felt in his chest. She was his best friend, she was a part of him, and he was a part of her. He was her eyes. Who would be her eyes in Battalon? He needed her help. Who else could he tell about the girl? About his … magic? As if in answer, something stirred beneath his skin. Startl
ed, he gripped Ma’s hand. The hot sting of tears burned his eyes.
‘Oh, Dash.’ Ma pulled him close. She smelled of lavender soap and the herbs she’d been chopping. ‘I know it hurts now, love. I know she’s your special friend. But better she goes now, before … Before you’re both grown. She’s a princess, love, you were never going to be able to be friends forever.’
Dash didn’t know what Ma was talking about, but he spotted Olena’s quaveer book on the floor. He’d dropped it when he’d thrown himself onto the bed. Ma couldn’t see it. Olena had said no one knew about those books, that they were secret, and Dash had to keep that secret. He pushed off from Ma’s embrace and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ma threw her hands up in the air.
‘Dash, how many times must I tell you not to do that? It’s uncivilised! I’ll get you a handkerchief.’ She got to her feet and hurried out the door, failing to notice the thick foreign volume that had been just inches from her shoes. Dash shoved it under his bed and sat up as Ma rushed back into the room, thrusting a square of fabric at him.
‘For the love of Connos, I can’t understand why you and your father find manners so difficult.’
Dash blew his nose into the thin material and Ma wrinkled her own.
‘Dry your eyes, too, Master Dash. We don’t want your father seeing those tears, do we?’
Dash shook his head meekly and handed her the dirty handkerchief. With a sigh, Ma took it and gave him a sad look.
‘It won’t always hurt this much, love. I promise.’ She closed the door behind her.
Dash slid onto the floor and ducked under the bed to find the book. He rested his back against the bedframe and hauled the heavy tome onto his lap. It fell open. The pages were thicker than other books, and were void of ink. Instead, patterns of perforated dots covered them. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers across them. He wasn’t even that good at normal reading yet, let alone this strange language, but he was determined to learn what Olena knew. Especially if she was right, and he was an … an Ashai. He turned his attentions back to the book, and pulled the notes Olena had given him from his pocket. She’d written the alphabet out for him. Each letter as he knew it was assigned a cell of six dots. Within the cell, the way the dots were emphasised told the reader which letter it was. Dash stared at Olena’s precise handwriting, and ran both sets of fingers across the book as she had shown him. He was resolute in teaching himself this new language. If he could master it, he and Olena could write to each other in a code no one else could read! He ran his fingers over the bumps on the page again, willing himself to understand.
Dash stayed in his room all morning. He felt queasy when he pictured the odd-eyed girl, the shock on her face, the guards dragging her away. He didn’t want to think about magic, but his vision, the maze and the red flowers, and that strange silken voice talking to the king … There was magic in Ellest, lots of it.
It was past noon when Markuss, one of the castle servants, appeared at the front door of the cottage. Dash had been summoned to see Princess Olena.
‘Dash,’ Ma called as he started to follow the servant. ‘Goodbyes should be short and sweet, alright?’
He frowned and then continued after the servant. Ma and Pa had never liked his friendship with Olena, but he couldn’t work out why. It made him special, having the Princess of Ellest as his best friend.
‘People talk, Dash,’ his father had said once.
But Dash still didn’t know what that meant.
Olena was in the gardens, at her usual spot on the white stone bench. She had been strapped into a deep claret gown with flourishes of blue embroidery, and her buttermilk-gold hair was braided into a crown around her head with matching blue ribbons. Dash plonked himself down next to her, still staring at the foreign attire.
‘Ten paces back, guards,’ said Olena.
‘Your Highness, we’re supposed to stay close,’ said one of them.
‘That’s an order,’ she said, her voice sharp.
Dash stared at her. He’d never heard her sound like that before. Commanding, confident – the voice of royalty. Perhaps that’s what they were teaching her in her studies of Battalon. The guard bowed respectfully and nodded to the others. They all took ten paces back, giving Dash and the princess privacy for their last conversation. Olena sighed, as though she was tired before her journey had even begun.
‘My escort and I leave tomorrow,’ she told Dash, wringing her hands.
‘We won’t see each other again, will we?’ he said.
Olena shook her head.
‘You’re sure I can’t come with you?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘I wish I could.’
‘I wish you could too. More than anything.’
Dash held her hand. Her fingers were smooth and soft, but freezing, so he cupped them between his palms to warm them.
‘I’ve started reading those quaveer books,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘It’s really hard.’
‘Told you so.’
‘But I’m going to keep trying,’ he said. ‘We can write to each other in secret code.’
‘No doubt someone else in the realm can read quaveer,’ she said.
Dash tried to disguise his hurt, but he was never fast enough for Olena. She was always able to sense his feelings.
‘I’m sure we can work it out,’ she said, a sad smile at her lips.
‘I’m going to study hard, Olena. I’ll be able to tell you all about —’
‘Shhhh … You can never speak of it aloud,’ she hissed, her face panic-stricken.
‘But to you —’
‘To no one,’ she said. ‘You never know who might be listening.’
Dash’s heart broke for her. Would she ever be free?
‘You’re really going.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ll be a queen.’
‘Eventually.’
‘Will you send for me, when you’re queen?’
‘You may not want to come by then. You may have made new friends.’
Dash shook his head. There would be no one else like Olena.
‘Do you still want to be a knight?’ she asked.
‘A knight in the Queen’s Guard.’
Olena smiled and handed him a small tin. Dash opened it and a sweet, buttery scent filled his nose. Sugar-oat biscuits.
‘Stay out of trouble, Zachary.’
‘Olena —’
‘Your Highness,’ a deep voice boomed from across the gardens. Dash nearly dropped the tin of biscuits. Commander Swinton strode towards them. His armour was freshly polished, and his hand rested on the pommel of his longsword as he spotted her guards standing ten paces away. A muscle worked in his jaw, and without a word from him, the guards hurried back to the princess’s side. Dash’s eyes bulged; the commander could command without even speaking.
‘Your Highness, I must escort you back to the castle.’
‘I have an escort, Commander.’ Olena’s voice was icy.
‘The boy is also required at the stables, Highness.’
‘His name is Dash, Commander, and he is required by my side until I say otherwise.’
The commander’s expression didn’t change. He was a stone wall. ‘The king and queen wish to speak with you. Your time for goodbyes is at an end.’
Dash heard Olena take a deep, frustrated breath beside him, before she stood, pulling him to his feet as well and grasping his hands.
‘Not appropriate, Highness.’ Commander Swinton’s firm voice cut in.
Dash could almost hear Olena screaming internally as she dropped his hands. She hadn’t even left Ellest yet, and her prison sentence had already begun. Tears lined her eyes, but she didn’t allow them to spill. She nodded once and turned away, back towards the castle. Despair gripped Dash’s insides, and when she reached the marble steps, he couldn’t help it; he called out one last time.
‘Olena.’ Her name already felt like a stranger’s.
She paused mi
d-step, but it was Commander Swinton who turned around, blocking Dash’s view of the princess. The commander’s eyes were dark, full of warning and dislike. He let Olena and her guard pass into the entrance hall and continued to stare at Dash.
Raw emotion stirred beneath Dash’s skin, merging with what he knew now was his magic. Hatred and magic fused, and he focused those two elements solely on the gleaming battleaxes that now disappeared into the shadows within the castle.
Chapter 34
Henri was no prisoner. She was free to come and go as she pleased, for the time being at least, and she planned on making the most of that fact. She needed to see Heathton for herself. After supper, she peeled away from the others and headed out into the heaving capital, holding her hood in place to hide her telltale braid and kohl-lined eyes. The city was as filthy as she remembered it. Its alleyways were festering with grime, waste and patches of vomit. It smelled like urine and old sweat, and the locals loitering about were as charming as ever.
‘How much for twenty minutes, mystery woman?’ someone croaked nearby. Henri pulled her hood up further over her face and continued down the cobblestone road. It wasn’t long before she found herself in the city’s sordid underbelly. She had always thought that if you wanted to get to know a place, you should take to its slums, not its jewellery quarter. The slums of Heathton said a lot about Ellest.
Henri turned down one of the many pleasure alleys, sidestepping a brawl that had broken out on the kerb. She didn’t linger. Instead, she moved at a brisk pace along the cobblestones, ducking back onto the footpath whenever a carriage bell sounded from behind her. On this street, the taverns weren’t like the regular inns up the other end of the city. The street looked right down into the well-lit bay windows of its establishments to reveal all manner of vices within, be it flesh, substance or information. Henri tore her eyes away from the dealings inside and found a yellowed poster, nailed to a hitching post up ahead.
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